


Blood Fever

by YRU



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Bones hating his life, First Time, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Humor, Jim Being Creepy, M/M, Smut, idek anymore, smutty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YRU/pseuds/YRU
Summary: For once the blood fever doesn't refer to pon farr.a.k.a. A fic where Jim gets needy when Khan's blood sends his libido into superhuman drive as well.





	Blood Fever

**** It started as soon as the Captain resumed his duties on the bridge. That is, a mere forty-three hours after he had been revived with the blood of Khan Noonien Singh. Somehow, the fact that Jim was able to function at his (super)normal capacity, less than two days after being brought back from the dead, didn’t especially surprise his First Officer.

Not that Spock was ever regularly stupefied by _anything_. Which was why, when his captain approached the science station to peer over his shoulder, his body arched forward to nearly envelop the himself broad-shouldered Vulcan, his rosy mouth just an inch too close to the pointed ear and his breath just a tad too sultry against the cool neck — Spock was stupefied.

“C-Captain.”

Jim shifted his mellow gaze to scan his First Officer’s indecipherable expression. A smirk was growing at the corner of his mouth.

“Commander, did you just stutter?” He was fully grinning now. Crinkled eyes, deep dimples and all.

Spock willed away the flush he felt creeping up his neck. Or at least, he hoped he did, or it would have completely undermined the practised equanimity of his response. “I was simply reformulating my utterance. Your unexpected proximity disrupted my cognitive process.”

“So I was distracting you?” Jim said breathily. His blue eyes were studying Spock’s face from behind batting lashes.

“Well, moderately, yes.” Spock prayed to no one that he didn’t just hear his own voice break mid-sentence. Why his vocal cords would even do such a thing, he was not certain.

He didn’t have much time to contemplate his increasingly failing speech, however, because Jim leaned forward a little more, one resolute hand resting on the back of his chair and the other on the surface of the console. Spock was cornered. And yet, he made no attempt to move. He examined the lazy — coy? — gaze staring back at him, the parted, slack mouth, and the delicate crimson glow blooming about the captain’s cheeks.

“Are you imbibed?” Spock asked, just as Jim whispered, “You were distracting me, too.” and then leaned in with an all-too familiar tilt of the head that Spock had been so used to seeing on Uhura.

He heard at least fifty per cent of the surrounding crew members’ breaths hitch the moment he felt a pair of warm lips melt against his.

Of course, he could have been sorely mistaken, because what came next was a searing spark, or sizzle, or scintillation, or some other word that hissed and licked the teeth when one said it, and it seized all his senses. It began from the very nerves in Spock’s lips, and then washed over and into every ounce of his flesh, muscle and bone, until he was positively frozen, skin goose-pimpled and buzzing in heat. His vision was replaced momentarily with nothing but pure white light, and he had just decided to give himself up to the light and the humming calefaction, when suddenly it all vanished.

“Ho! Whoa! O-kay! Right. Wow.”

Spock almost wanted to nerve-pinch the consciousness out of whoever was making the de trop exclamations. When his vision cleared, he saw that it was Sulu, who had apparently pulled the Captain away and was now restraining him from pouncing back onto the breathlessly tingling Vulcan.

“Yikes,” Spock heard someone else remark with the same arbitrary vocabulary, but he soon lost his will to be vexed as his eyes travelled to the area just below the hem of Jim’s chartreuse yellow shirt. There was a visible — and _sizeable_ — tent in the Captain’s pants.

“Oh,” Spock intoned just as stupidly.

“Fuck off!” Jim yelled into Sulu’s petrified face, shrugging off his grip. Then a look came over Jim’s face, as if he had realised something, and all of a sudden he was locking lips with his alarmed helmsman.

Spock didn’t even have to act on his immense urge to pry the two of them apart, because Chekov was already on his feet, doe eyes wider than ever and arms stretched out to wrench Jim away.

“Ay! Captain, what are you doing!” When Chekov finally pulled the taller man away — or rather, when he resolved to yanking Sulu out of his grasp, because Jim had a strength today that was rather unanticipated even for him — he hastily retreated to avoid becoming the next target of his commanding officer’s… affections.

Jim simply waved a snappish hand in Sulu’s direction and muttered something that sounded like, “Ehh. I didn’t like that as much anyway.”

At this point, Uhura was rushing to contact Bones over her communicator, glancing over her shoulder every now and then as she tried to explain to the chief medical officer what his best friend had just done on the bridge.

“What do you mean, ‘He finally did it’?! Just come get him!” she rasped into the communicator, as she watched Jim advancing towards Spock again.

When Bones eventually arrived at the scene, the Captain was undoubtedly dry humping his green-faced First Officer into his chair. His erotic moaning continued into his refusal to Bones to “get the hell off of the hobgoblin”.

“Okay, you,” Bones snapped at Spock. “Get out of that chair and help me move this horny heap to the medical bay _now_.”

Spock convinced himself he wasn’t reluctant to follow these instructions and pushed himself out of his seat with more effort than he was used to, Jim’s limbs still in a firm lock around various parts of his body. The realisation that the Vulcan could have probably sooner upped and left from his position dawned on the bridge crew, but they kept their lips sealed and their eyes downcast as the three men made their exit. Before stepping out of sight, Spock motioned for an ensign to take over his console at the science station. He turned away a second too early to see the horrified expression transpire on her face as she eyed the still swivelling empty chair.

“Mr Sulu, you have the conn! I’m sexually compromised!” Jim sang as the Turbolift doors slid shut.

The lift descended.

“Jim, get off of Spock,” Bones ordered.

“I _was_ trying to get off,” Jim retorted, a glint in his wild eyes. Spock felt the human’s grip tighten around him.

“I find this acceptable,” Spock said with characteristic impassivity. When Bones widened his eyes and sucked his teeth, Spock hurried to follow up, “Until we arrive at our destination.”

They finally did, a little too quickly — though Spock did not care to voice this disappointment. Not that it lasted very long either, because Jim didn’t cease his breathy and mostly inaudible murmuring into Spock’s skin even when they reached the medical bay and planted themselves on a biobed.

“Well, this is gonna be fun,” Bones spat dryly at the sight, before walking over to a large cabinet in a nearby room to fish out the second of Jim’s four different health record files. When he got back to his two superiors, he found them in a writhing embrace and their mouths mashed together, so he made a show of slamming the thick file down on a table and flipping through the dozens of pages as noisily as humanly possible. He got to the most recent record and cleared his throat, even though there was obviously nothing but suppressed spite stuck there.

“So. Jim here got up from his coma thanks to our kind terrorist’s super-blood, reached full health in about twenty-four hours, but then continued to see a rise in various components of his physiology, including his heart rate, blood pressure, physical strength, keenness of his five senses.” The doctor shut the file with a resounding thump, which stopped the two — or at least Spock — in the midst oftheir intense kissing for a moment. Bones took the opportunity to roll his eyes as pointedly as he could. “Oh, and I forgot to mention — his _dick._ ”

“Are you referring to his libido?” Spock’s question came out as an unintentional croak.

“No, no, I’m referring to his desire to seek Jesus Christ and take a vow of celibacy,” Bones said, the sarcasm dripping so heavily from his words even Spock could discern it quickly enough not to voice any confusion.

“Bones, stop being so bitter and just let me have sex,” Jim grunted into the nook of Spock’s neck.

“I can’t, you idiot. Didn’t you listen to me? I just said your vitals are all messed up. If you go into cardiac arrest while having an orgasm, I don’t have anymore of that terrorist blood to revive you again!” An expression of mock-revelation lit up the doctor’s face. “You know, maybe you _should_ have an orgasm.”

Jim drew out a muffled sound of agreement.

“I knew I shouldn’t have discharged you so soon,” Bones said. He picked up the file from the table and made his way back to the file cabinet to return it, raising his voice so Jim could hear him from the back room. “I need to run more tests on you, so go get changed into the patient robes. I don’t know how far you’ll keep going, but you’re definitely staying overnight again until your body stabilises. And I’m not taking any objections — you better start undressing right now!”

Bones froze as soon as his words left his mouth. He shut his eyes and let the exasperation simmer out in a long sigh. He closed the drawer and stalked out of the room to see, as he had expected but wished would be proven wrong about, Jim bare-chested with his fly open, straddling a perfectly acquiescent Spock.

“I meant undress alone!” Bones groaned, grabbing the half-naked man’s bicep to yank him off the biobed. He shot a glare in Spock’s direction. “And you’re just letting all this happen!”

“I—” Spock began. He was cut short, however — not that he had anything valid to explain himself and his unusually amenable state — by a sharp clash of medical equipment on the ground. Jim’s eyes were frenzied and burning, a scowl marring his features. He took hold of two thankfully empty glass tubes and smashed them against the wall, gripping the jagged remains in his fists as he bounded towards the man who had pried him off his lover. His risen arms descended in one swift motion, but the doctor veered out of the way, and with the finesse of no one other than a doctor who knew exactly what to do in these situations, shoved a hypo into the side of Jim’s neck from behind. The contents flooded into his bloodstream, and before he could react in violence to the sharp prick through his neck, he was slumped in a heap in Bones’ arms, as impotent as any unconscious person would be.

“Was that necessary?” Spock found himself asking.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” And as if Jim was helping him out for once, the broken glass tubes slipped out of his limp hands and rolled towards the biobed Spock was still unglamorously sprawled out on.

*****

Seven days after the incident, Spock was interrupted in the midst of his meditative trance by a familiar voice. It came from the intercom inside of his quarters, and it said uncertainly, “Hey, Spock. Are you in there? I’d like to, uh, talk. It’s Jim.”

Spock was unreasonably offended that the Captain thought he would require help in identifying his voice. The illogic was no longer unexpected, of course, because nothing he had thought about Jim for the past week made much sense to him.

He rose from his mat and punched the button beside his door to let it slide open. Though he knew who he was to expect standing outside his quarters, Spock still felt the flitting in his chest when his eyes took in Jim’s wary but warm stance. Jim was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back and bottom lip being chewed. He released the lip from between his teeth, and Spock made a point of not watching the pink colour rush back into it from having been bitten on so hard.

“Hey,” Jim said.

“Captain,” Spock replied.

Jim’s figure deflated and he rolled his eyes, pushing his way into the room. “If I come to your quarters on off-duty hours in my pyjamas, you don’t have to call me ‘Captain’.”

“Duly noted,” Spock clipped, shifting sideways to make room for Jim’s entry. “I see you have been discharged.”

“Yeah, finally.” Jim forced a laugh. “The most boring week of my life.”

“Judging from the cause of your admittance, I fail to comprehend how your recovery process would be… monotonous.”

Jim’s smile waned. He looked to the carpeted floor in an uncomfortable silence, and eventually shifted his gaze to Spock again, a sorriness clouding his eyes. “About that. I’m really— I just want to— I really didn’t mean to, like—” He shut himself up by pressing a closed fist to his lips. Several seconds later, he muttered from behind it, “I don’t know, Spock. I’m so sorry.”

“I would forgive you, Jim, but I find that I never did hold ill feelings towards you for what occurred on the bridge or the medical bay,” Spock said in an equally low tone. “Your actions were, after all, influenced by the side effects of your medical treatment, and not your personal desires.”

A cryptic look crossed Jim’s face for a split second, and of course Spock caught it, but he focused instead on the cautious smile that appeared right after. “I’m really glad to hear that. Although I am still really sorry. Especially given your culture of conservatism. I know you don’t just let anyone touch you… like that.”

“I do not.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“I—I’m sorry,” Jim said again, his head bowed and face slowly burning a bright red.

“I understand. Do not be concerned. The matter is behind us now.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

“Are you well enough to join me in a game of chess?”

“What? Wait, what?” Jim tried his best to hide his wince, opening his mouth for a moment with a stream of thoughts ready to escape, but stopped himself. Maybe Spock just wanted things to go back to the way they were before. He at least owed him that. He straightened and cleared his throat. “Uh, never mind. Yeah, I would love that.”

So the two of them made their way to the medium-sized table beside the bed, where the chess set stood primly in the centre like it hadn’t been touched since the last time they played chess together and Jim helped put the pieces back in their original set-up. They sat on opposite ends of the table and began their game as per usual, Spock playing black and Jim playing white, Spock winning one round and Jim winning the next. At some point, between all the unintentional finger-brushing, accidental leg-touching and bashful glances when Jim caught Spock studying his face — when precisely, Jim is unsure, although Spock will remind him at some point in the future of the exact time it happened (2345h, after Jim won the fourth round in five minutes and grinned so widely Spock couldn’t help himself anymore) — the two of them found the chess board on the floor and their mouths, faces, hands meeting in the middle instead. Moments later, the table was shoved to the floor as well in their clumsy embrace, and then Spock.

Jim had his hands buried in Spock’s hair as he caressed the soft inside of the Vulcan’s mouth with his tongue. The bulge in his loose pyjama pants grew with every choked sound of pleasure Spock emitted, every second the hips beneath his gyrated against his own, and every inch he felt Spock pulling his waistband down in desperate want. When Jim finally pushed himself into Spock, he didn’t let himself stop. When they climaxed together, he fell into Spock’s chest and clung on until his legs gave from the straddling, and rolled his back onto the floor beside Spock. Never did Jim break contact, even as they eventually moved to the bed in their embarrassed realisation that it existed, which meant the pure white light never left the Vulcan’s mind.

*****

During lunch the following day, Spock thought it appropriate to voice his concerns about Jim to the doctor. Bones nearly choked on his food when Spock told him in the most blatant manner possible that they had sex (“The Captain and I engaged in sexual intercourse”).

“I don’t need to know _everything_ , Spock!” he barked, when the food had gone down.

“I am not attempting to impart all the universe’s knowledge to you,” Spock said. “Simply the fact that the Captain and I had se—”

“I get it, I get it! Shut up!”

“I do have a point in informing you, Doctor.” Spock straightened even more, if it were possible. “The Captain still appears to have vestigial side effects from the blood transfusion.”

Bones furrowed his brows. “No, that can’t be. I examined him myself. He’s fine now.”

“While we were engaged in sexual intercourse last night,” Spock ignored the grimace Bones pulled. “I noticed that the Captain displayed extreme physical strength that I would deem superhuman, even if still not matched by my own. This caused us to copulate on the floor, where I was pushed, despite there being a bed available in my quarters. While I was not averse to it, I believe the Captain’s unbridled excitement may have been caused by the abnormal surge in his libido.”

Bones looked about ready to kill or be killed when Spock had finished. He shook his head, turned his attention to stabbing a piece of replicated potato slice with his fork, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to be able to take another bite. “That’s not the blood, that’s just Jim when he’s horny,” he stated flatly.

Spock blinked. “I would venture that my hypothesis is further corroborated by the fact that he initiated intercourse thrice more afterward.”

Bones heaved a sigh and let his utensils drop into his food.


End file.
